Smoke Gets In Your Eyes
by ForeverLulu
Summary: Gilligan and Mary Ann rehearse their scene for Castaways Pictures Presents, and Mary Ann gets a little 'hands-on'. Rated T for mild suggestiveness.
1. A Fine Young Cannibal

**This story is a joint effort. Idea by Courtney, embellished by me, embellished even more by Courtney. I'd like to thank Courtney for totally corrupting me- don't believe her if she says it was the other way around. Mainly I'd like to thank her for introducing me to the wonderful world of MAG. (Plus, ****Sherwood Schwartz is a genius and if I ever met him I would *die*.)**

**Story rated T for slight suggestiveness. Well..shirtless Gilligan. Wouldn't _you?_**

# # # #

The first production meeting of the newly formed Castaways Pictures company was a raucous affair. The Professor did his best to keep order, but everyone was too excited about the washed up film equipment to let him get a word in edgeways.

The Howells couldn't contain their utter excitement at finding lost relics belonging to Lovey's silent screen idol Fifi LaFrance and her mustachioed husband Ricardo Laughingwell. Mr. Howell was adamant he should be the director of their first rescue film, and his constant loud braying successfully drowned out all of the Professor's anxious appeals for calm.

Ginger wanted main billing. Nothing less would do. Her girlish squeals of excitement interspersed with breathy Marilyn Monroe impressions made Gilligan cover his ears one minute and squirm awkwardly the next. The fact that she was jiggling her bosoms right next to him and breathing down his neck didn't help.

The Skipper just wanted to make a film that would get them rescued. He was having a hard time getting this simple point across.

Even Mary Ann was more worried about putting in a bad performance than making a semi documentary that would get their little island noticed.

As for Gilligan, he just wanted to play with the crazy costumes.

After over two hours of determined negotiating- against Mr. Howell, mainly- the beleaguered Professor was finally able to hand out rudimentary production schedules containing rough drafts of a rescue scene, a short explanation of events scene, a scene with a fierce native, and finally a scene where they would pinpoint on a chart exactly where their tiny island was located. _This film should be self-explanatory, _he said._ No-one should be left in doubt as to who we are and where we are. Ladies and gentlemen, if we get this right, this could well be our ticket out of here._

The meeting came to an end. Gilligan and the Skipper picked up their sheaves of paper and wandered across the clearing. Gilligan buried his nose in the first page, his lips moving as he read aloud.

"Skipper, why do I have to be a native?" he complained.

"Because, little buddy, you look better in a skirt than I do," the Skipper chortled.

Gilligan looked at the Skipper with his best 'funny ha ha' expression. "It says here I have to be a cannibal. Cannibals eat people. I don't eat people."

"Gilligan, you're not going to _be_ a cannibal, you're just going to _act_ like one."

"Oh." Gilligan peered over his sheaf of papers at the Skipper's rather large frame. "I guess if I _was_ gonna eat people, you'd make a pretty good first course. And second course- _and_ third course. And there'd be plenty of leftovers, too."

"Oh, really?" the Skipper said, annoyed. "Well, at least I'd make a nice meal for somebody. You're so skinny you couldn't even make an appetizer. They'd use your ribs as toothpicks for the main meal!"

Gilligan was trying to think of a witty comeback that would shut the Skipper up when Mary Ann appeared, clutching her sheaf of papers to her chest.

"Isn't this exciting?" she said, her eyes sparkling. "A real movie, with a real movie star in it! Oh, but I'm so nervous, I've never acted in a real movie before. I mean, I've acted in school plays, but they were never filmed, with a camera and a director and everything like that. Oh, I'm, so excited!" Unaware that she was babbling and that Skipper and Gilligan were both staring at her, Mary Ann jumped up and down on the spot like a little girl, hugging her script and smiling from ear to ear.

"Mary Ann, you're in the Cannibal scene with me," said Gilligan. "It says I have to tie you to a steak. Where are we going to get steak? We don't have any steak."

"Stake, Gilligan. S-t-a-k-e. It's a pole in the ground."

"Oh. I thought we were gonna get steak. I've heard about movie catering. Sounds yummy."

The Skipper rolled his eyes like he did a thousand times a day when Gilligan was around. He turned to Mary Ann with a sweet smile. "Mary Ann, I wish you all the best. I can't even get him to act like a normal person, let alone a made up one!"

# # # #

Gilligan was still muttering about cannibals an hour later as he and Mary Ann stood in the girls' hut, surveying all the bits and pieces of the costume he was going to wear. Spread out on the table before them were brightly coloured beads, gemstones and feathers, chunky wooden necklaces adorned with native woodcarvings, a variety of shells, fake animal bones, a pair of fetching tribal earrings, a blue feathered headpiece consisting of a black wig adorned with two crossed tusks, and the piece de resistance, a long grass skirt. Then there were the pots of greasepaint salvaged from the crates of South Sea Film Productions. There was red, blue, white, black and yellow. Gilligan unscrewed the lid of one pot and sniffed its contents, wrinkling up his nose.

"I wanted to wear one of the outfits in the crate," he whined. "Like a spaceman, or a cowboy, or a circus ringmaster."

"Gilligan, it would look awfully silly if I was being tied to a stake by a spaceman. We don't want anyone thinking we're shipwrecked on the moon!"

"Don't be silly, Mary Ann, you can't be shipwrecked on the moon," Gilligan said, taking her literally. He fished among the ornaments on the table and picked up a small wooden skull carving. "Euch. Where'd you get this? It looks like voodoo."

"It's just a trinket," Mary Ann said. "Costume jewelry."

Gilligan looked at her dubiously. He put the skull ornament down and picked up a blue feathered head dress, peering at it from all angles. "What about you? What are you wearing?"

"Oh, just my red check dress and some cute little red shoes, and maybe a ribbon or two in my hair."

Gilligan groaned. "You mean all this stuff's just for me?" He dropped the head dress and hefted a great sigh. "Why do I get all the hard work?"

"Oh, Gilligan, it won't take long to get you all fixed up. I'll help!"

Gilligan grinned at the eager expression on his friend's face. "Thanks Mary Ann. You're the best."

"There's just one other thing, before you start putting on that skirt," Mary Ann smiled.

Gilligan, who was holding up the grass skirt and shaking it out ready to wear, stopped what he was doing and looked at her, puzzled. "Yeah?" he said. "Like what?"

# # # #

Gilligan, Mary Ann and the Professor were in the supply hut, or the Props Department, as everyone had started calling it. Gilligan was stirring a cauldron that was half filled with a thick brown liquid made from different dark coloured berries they had harvested from around the island. Brown berries, red berries and deep purple berries all combined to make a rich, velvet mahogany colour. Not only that, it filled the hut with a warm, sweet aroma that smelled like one of Mary Ann's famous fruit pies baking.

"Mmm, this stuff tastes great!" Gilligan slurped from the ladle yet again.

"Please, Gilligan, I strictly told you not to eat it!"

Gilligan put the ladle back into the simmering pot of dark brown berry juice and carried on stirring it slowly. "Sorry, Professor, I keep forgetting."

"That's your body dye, Gilligan," Mary Ann laughed. "If you eat too much of it, there'll only be enough to make you brown on one side. The inside!"

Gilligan grinned. "I don't care. It's delicious." When the Professor turned his back, the first mate stuck his hand into the mixture again and licked his fingers clean. "Mmmm!" Then, on noticing the Professor glancing sidelong at him, he added, "I mean...mmmm, this stuff should really make me nice and brown."

"Oh, it will," the Professor said. "And luckily it's not permanent, as I've also made it water soluble."

"Just so long as it washes off," said Gilligan.

The Professor sighed. He didn't even bother to reply to that one.

# # # #

After the mixture had boiled down and cooled into a paste, the Professor transferred it into a bowl and Mary Ann and Gilligan returned to the girls' hut to start applying it. Ginger had gone down to the beach to practise her lines for her upcoming scene with the Professor, and Mr. Howell and the Skipper were busy over at the Howells hut arguing over who was really in charge of this film and who was just acting like a tyrant.

"There's something I don't understand," Gilligan said, looking through his notes for the umpteenth time. "How come these scenes don't get filmed in order? It says our scene comes after Ginger and the Professor's scene, but our scene's getting filmed first."

Mary Ann shrugged. "Maybe it's because Ginger needs lots of time to rehearse," she said. "She is a move star, after all. Not like us, we're just regular people."

"Don't we get to rehearse?" Gilligan's blue eyes widened.

"Well, I guess if we have time?" Mary Ann pursed her lips and thought about it.

"I'm just saying," said Gilligan. "Because I don't know how to be a cannibal. I think it's something I might need to rehearse. Jut so long as I don't have to eat anyone," he added with a grimace.

"Well, come on then, why don't we get into costume, and then we can go and find somewhere to rehearse?" Mary Ann suggested. "After all, if it's good enough for Ginger, right?"

"Yeah," agreed Gilligan. He put his finger into the berry paste and licked it clean. "Yummy."

Mary Ann swatted at his hand. "Gilligan, stop that! There's not enough for your body _and _your stomach."

"But it's just so delicious," Gilligan said. "I can't help it!"

"I can see I'm going to have to stay here and apply it for you," Mary Ann tutted. "Otherwise there won't be any left. Now, come on. Take your shirt off."

"What?" Gilligan stopped licking his fingers and stared at her. Then he looked around to see if there was another Gilligan in the room that she might be talking to, but there was only him.

"Your shirt, Gilligan. I can't put this on until you take that off."

"But, Mary Ann!" Gilligan looked shocked and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Gilligan, this is no time for modesty. Besides, I've seen you with your shirt off plenty of times, like when we go swimming."

"That's different!"

"It's no different. Come on, Gilligan, off with it."

Reluctantly, Gilligan pulled his rugby shirt over his head and draped it over a chair.

"And the t-shirt."

Reluctantly, Gilligan pulled his t-shirt over his head and draped it over his rugby shirt. He straightened his hat and stood barechested in the middle of the girls' hut. "I hope you're not gonna ask me to take my pants off, too," he muttered.

"I might," said Mary Ann mischievously, trying not to stare at him too hard.

Gilligan panicked and made as if to bolt like a sprinter from the starting blocks, but Mary Ann put her hand on his arm and stopped him in the nick of time.

"Gilligan, this is no time to go missing. People in the movies get undressed in front of each other all the time!" She looked askance then, pondering what she'd just said. "At least, that's what Ginger told me," she finished, then shrugged. "Anyway, it would help if you put on the skirt so we can do your legs, too. I promise I won't look while you do it."

Gilligan hung his head and pouted. "Okay, but turn around."

Mary Ann turned around, and listened quietly to the sounds of Gilligan removing his jeans and putting on the rustling, swishing grass skirt. "I still don't see why I have to be the cannibal," he complained. "Skipper's the one who eats everything in sight."

Mary Ann giggled. "Maybe the Professor couldn't make enough dye for the Skipper." She covered her mouth, feeling immediately guilty at making a fat joke about the Skipper, but she was thrilled at the sound of Gilligan's delighted laughter behind her.

"Yeah," he said. "If we made enough dye for Skipper's whole body, there'd be no more berries left on the whole island." He adjusted the grass skirt around his slim waist, brushed it down and gave it a fluff and a shake. "Okay, Mary Ann," he announced, standing up straight and pulling his shoulders back. "I'm all ready."

Mary Ann turned around and promptly burst into giggles at the sight of Gilligan standing there in nothing but a knee length grass skirt and the white hat that was permanently fixed to his head. His bare, slender legs emerged from the dried fronds and his long toes wiggled on the sandy floor.

"What?" Gilligan looked down at himself. "Can you see my underwear?"

"No," Mary Ann grinned, wiping a tear from her eye. "It's just that I've never seen such a pale, undernourished cannibal before!"

She picked up the bowl of berry paste and approached him shyly. He was right about one thing- being bare chested while swimming out in the open with other people around was markedly different to being bare chested in the girls' hut with only him and her there. Oh well, it was too late to back out now. Besides, someone needed to do his back, didn't they?

"Turn around," she instructed.

Gilligan turned around with a sigh.

"You must come from a tribe of skinny cannibals who ran out of people to eat," Mary Ann laughed, digging her fingers into the paste and extracting a sizeable lump.

"Hey, maybe they turned vegetarian and starved to death." Gilligan giggled at his own joke.

"That's funny, Gilligan."

Gilligan beamed happily. "I know-ooo-oOOW!" He went up on his toes as Mary Ann put the lump of berry paste on his back and ran it down his spine. "Mary Aaaann!"

"What's wrong, Gilligan?" Mary Ann was puzzled. "It's not cold!" She felt the berry paste between her fingers. If anything, it was slightly warm.

"I know, but...that_ tickled!_"

"I'm sorry, I should've warned you I was about to start." Mary Ann returned her fingers to his spine and began to rub the paste over his skin. "Is that better?"

"Yeah. Just don't surprise me like that again, Mary Ann."

"I'll try not to."

Gilligan went quiet. He stood patiently while Mary Ann's hands glided over his back, applying the paste in an even layer over his skin. Every now and again she scooped another lump from the bowl, rubbed it between her palms, and smoothed another coat over his lean shoulderblades and down his slender back to his waist. He had a nice back, she had to admit. His muscles might be lean, but they felt nice. He might be on the skinny side, but what there was of him was very finely tuned.

"Lucky you," she said, rubbing the dye carefully into the small of his back. "You're getting a massage as well."

"A massage? Oh, boy! A massage!" Gilligan perked up, then peered over his shoulder, puzzled. "What's a massage?"

"A back rub," Mary Ann grinned.

"Oh, yeah, a back rub." Gilligan went quiet again, then he gasped. "A back rub? That's what Skipper says you get from the girls in Honolulu! Mary Ann, you better stop!"

Mary Ann laughed at Gilligan's naivete. "Gilligan! How could you think such a thing about me? There are back rubs, and there are back rubs. This is just a nice, _innocent_ back rub. Don't you feel relaxed?"

"I was," Gilligan said, his face a picture of worry. "Until you mentioned back rubs."

"That's why I used the word 'massage'," Mary Ann laughed playfully. "People pay good money for massages in top health clubs, I'll have you know. Ginger told me."

"People pay good money for back rubs in Honolulu, too," Gilligan countered. "Skipper told me."

Mary Ann ran both hands up his back and curled her fingers over his shoulders. "Your back's done, anyway. Would you turn around please, sir?"

Gilligan turned around. His chest looked awfully white in comparison to his newly bronzed back. Mary Ann scooped paste into her hands and started dabbing it on his neck.

"Aren't you glad I'm here to help you with this?" Mary Ann asked. "Even if you didn't eat it all, I don't think you'd be able to reach everywhere by yourself." She rubbed the dye into his neck and throat, and then began applying it to his face. He stood very still so that she didn't get any of it into his eyes. Her fingers moved deftly over his cheeks and nose. She moved his hair gently aside and rubbed the dye across his forehead. He stood there with his eyes closed allowing her to admire his eyelashes, marvelling at how long and dark they were. _Many a girl would kill for eyelashes like those,_ she thought. _Me included._

When she told Gilligan his face was done, he opened his eyes and blinked. His twin turquoise orbs focused and met with her brown ones. His pupils dilated. Suddenly Mary Ann realised how close she was to him. She gulped nervously and stepped back.

"How do I look?" he asked, blinking again.

"Half baked," Mary Ann told him, her breath catching slightly in her throat. "There's your chest and your arms to do yet." Steeling herself, she stepped forward again. _Don't be silly Mary Ann,_ she told herself. _This is what makeup artists do all the time. You're just applying makeup to a human body. _

_A very nice human body..._

Applying makeup to Gilligan's front was very different from applying it to his back. For one thing, he could watch her, and he was. He was watching her intently. Gilligan looked at people the way children did, before they were taught not to stare. Gilligan's startlingly blue eyes could pin you down if you weren't careful. Gilligan would always make you look away first, as though you had something to hide. Mary Ann was finding it difficult to smooth the dye as carefully over his chest and stomach as she had done with his back. For one thing, there were his nipples. She didn't know what to do about them. _Think makeup artist,_ she told herself._ You're a Hollywood makeup artist, this means nothing to you. Nipples are nothing. Just do it and get it over with._

She swallowed hard and ran both hands very quickly over both of his nipples. She didn't think he'd react or even notice, but his sudden sharp intake of breath told her otherwise._ You didn't hear that, _she said inwardly._ You didn't hear him gasp, you didn't feel his muscles contract. Keep going._

She smoothed dye over his stomach. He gave the same sharp reaction when her finger accidentally dipped into his navel. The muscles of his ribcage twitched when she applied the dye along his sides. Gilligan squirmed and said it was ticklish. When she looked up at his face, she saw a look in his eyes that was hard to define. He looked confused, unsure of himself. The realisation hit her that that was exactly how she was beginning to feel, too.

"Mary Ann, I can do my arms," he said in a strange voice. He reached for the bowl.

"Did I do something wrong, Gilligan" Mary Ann asked, feeling dismayed. Had she offended him? Didn't he want her to touch him any more? Gilligan possessed the innocence of a young boy in the enticingly developed body of a 22 year old man. There had been plenty, plenty of times when she had wanted to reach out and touch him, but he was like a coiled spring ready to fly at the slightest hint of a female approach. She watched him as he proceeded to spread the dye carefully down his own arms. He looked like he was concentrating very hard. She wondered what to do next, then hit upon an idea.

"I'll draw some native markings on you, if you like," she said, brightening. The pots of greasepaint positively beckoned to her. She could make all kinds of aboriginal type markings on him. It would be a perfect excuse to touch him without him suspecting her of trying any female stuff. "How about a scary face on your back?"

"Sure!" Gilligan said, surprising her by instantly agreeing. "As long as it's on my back where I can't see it!"

Mary Ann opened all the pots of greasepaint and thought about what she would draw. She stood behind him with the black pot and made S shaped swirls, dots and circles. It didn't seem to bother him one bit. He was busy working dye into his knobby elbows, his tongue poking out boyishly between his lips.

"I hope you're not licking that dye off your face," she smiled, watching him in amusement.

"No, but I sure am gonna lick the bowl after I've finished," he grinned, holding both his skinny arms out and inspecting them closely.

"I've given you a nice scary face and some swirly things and some little circles," Mary Ann told him. "It's what all the best dressed cannibals are wearing this year."

"That's great Mary Ann. I guess even cannibals like to look good." He glanced down at himself. Then a thought struck him. "What about my legs?"

"Oh, we really should put some of that dye on them," Mary Ann said quickly. "You can't be a two tone cannibal, even in a black and white film! Here, put your foot up on this chair."

Gilligan looked at her a little suspiciously. "Are you sure?"

"Come on, Gilligan, just to give them a bit of colour. It'll only take a minute." Mary Ann picked up the bowl, waiting for him to put his foot on the chair. He was still watching her with that curious look in his eyes. Finally, he lifted his right foot and put it on the chair. The grass fronds parted and exposed his thigh almost to his groin. He was wearing boxer shorts, but still. Gilligan did not readily expose his legs to anyone. Mary Ann had only a small window of opportunity in which to work. She grasped it, so to speak.

She covered her palms in dye and put both hands on his leg, just above the knee. His leg was bristly, not too hairy, but not completely smooth, either. The tendons behind his knee felt springy. He had runner's legs. He ought to, by now, with all the sprinting into the jungle he did. She swallowed past a dry lump in her throat. She flexed her fingers gently and began rubbing in the dye.

"I wonder how the others are getting along?" she said, deciding small talk was the best way to distract both of them from what she was doing.

"I don't know. Maybe the Skipper and Mr. Howell are still fighting over who gets to be in charge." Gilligan's toes wiggled on the chair.

"They're both being silly," Mary Ann said. "everyone knows the Professor's in charge."

"Is that why he's hiding in the supply hut?"

Mary Ann looked up from her ministrations and smiled at the mischievous twinkle in Gilligan's eyes. "He was looking rather strained when we saw him, wasn't he?"

Gilligan puffed up his newly bronzed chest, stuck out his chin, and launched into his best impersonation of Mr. Howell. "Fire that man and bring me some people I can work with!" he articulated through clenched teeth.

Mary Ann laughed. "Gilligan, you sound more like Mr. Howell than he does!"

"Ooh! What you said! Lovey, where are my pills!" Gilligan's hands flew to his mouth at his own use of Mrs. Howell's first name, or rather, the affectionate name that Mr. Howell called her. None of the castaways ever called the millionaires 'Thurston' and 'Lovey', except the Professor, who got away with it once because the Professor usually got away with everything, even being wrong.

Mary Ann laughed even more, and they giggled and shushed each other with elbow nudges and comic frowns.

While they were joking around, Mary Ann's fingers worked their way slightly higher up his thigh. She applied another small scoop of berry paste and continued stroking gently over his skin. The roughness of his leg hairs reminded her that she actually had her hands around a grown man's leg. Maybe this sort of thing wouldn't bother Ginger, but it was making Mary Ann feel very daring.

When Gilligan had got over his giggling fit, he carried on watching Mary Ann's hands working over his leg. "Mary Ann, the scene says I have to tie you to a stake. I hope you don't mind me doing that. You know you're my friend and everything. I wouldn't really tie you to a stake."

"I know that, Gilligan." Mary Ann's face was beginning to feel a little warm. It struck her that she was taking an awful long time over one leg when she had done his whole back in less than five minutes. Her fingers inched higher. She really had no idea what she was trying to do now. His upper thighs would be completely covered by the grass skirt. If anything, she ought to be working on the area below the knee, not above it.

There was also the small matter of his proximity. He was so close she could feel his breath ruffling her pigtails and smell the sweet berry dye that coated him all over. Why, she could probably even lean forward and lick him if she wanted to.

Quickly brushing that thought away, Mary Ann scooped one more lump of dye out of the almost empty bowl and replaced her hand on Gilligan's leg. Her hovering fingers wove their way gently through the grass fronds and around to his inner thigh. She swallowed nervously at the discovery that his skin was much softer and smoother there. It felt almost silky, like a fine garment of Mrs. Howell's. It was also warmer- a _lot_ warmer. The warmth entered through her fingertips, travelled swiftly up her arm and landed straight in her cheeks which immediately flushed a deep pink colour. She blinked in confusion and her nerves got the better of her.

Her fingers accidentally squeezed him.

There was a split second of realisation that hit them both at the same time. Their eyes simultaneously met and widened. Gilligan stopped chatting about cannibals, panicked and let out a strangled squawk. He leapt back. He stood in the middle of the room, his hands rubbing frantically at his leg as though trying to get rid of the evidence that Mary Ann had almost touched him some place that she shouldn't have.

_Really _shouldn't have.

Mary Ann was desperate to make amends. Her dye coated hands flapped wildly in mid air and her voice came out high pitched and shaky like a little girl's. "Gilligan, I didn't mean to do that! I really didn't! I'm sorry! Please don't leave!"

Gilligan's face was a picture of surprise and despair, much like Mary Ann imagined hers was. "Where am I gonna go dressed like _this_?" he blustered.

Mary Ann's nerves made her giggle with embarrassment. "I don't know! Just don't run out on me. I won't do it again. It was an accident, _please_ believe me."

Gilligan rubbed once more at his leg. He shook his head in an exasperated way, but Gilligan exasperation wasn't like other peoples' exasperation. He was quick to forgive, especially Mary Ann.

"Don't worry. Mary Ann," he said, rearranging the grass skirt modestly over both his legs. "I believe you. It was an accident. But I think..." he edged forward warily and grabbed his jeans off the back of the chair, "...I'm gonna be a cannibal who wears pants from now on."

# # # #


	2. Burned At The Stake

"Say! Who do we have here?" The Professor smiled as he spotted Gilligan standing outside the girls' hut wearing full native costume. The normally unobtrusive first mate looked quite startlingly scary. He was festooned with chunky tribal necklaces from which hung shells, bones and other wooden carvings. His back and upper arms were a riot of swirls and stripes and brightly coloured aboriginal markings. His lips were painted black and white to look like skull's teeth. There was a scary skull face daubed from shoulderblade to shoulderblade. There was a plastic twig suspended over his top lip to suggest a bone through his nose, and chunky circular earrings dangling from both earlobes. There were three vivid stripes across his face in his own Gilligan colours of white, red and pale blue. On his head he wore the black and blue-feathered head dress with the two crossed tusks and all the little coloured gemstones. In his right hand he clutched a makeshift spear with a white feather on it.

The overall fright factor was somewhat diluted by the fact that he was wearing his rolled up jeans under the grass skirt, and his feet were snuggled into a pair of plain old comfy non-tribal slippers.

"Very striking, Gilligan! Why, I wouldn't have know it was you, but for the legs."

"I'm the first cannibal to wear pants," Gilligan grinned.

"That's civilisation for you," the Professor parried. "Say, where's Mary Ann?"

"She's getting dressed," Gilligan replied. "I'm just waiting for her. We're gonna do a rehearsal."

"A rehearsal?" The Professor said, dubiously.

"Yeah, a rehearsal. So we know what to do. Don't you think that's a good idea, Professor?" The face looked savage and frightening, but the voice that wavered uncertainly out of the fierce tribal markings was definitely Gilligan's.

"Well, certainly it's a good idea, but we have a schedule to adhere to, you do realise that."

"Yeah, and a movie to make, too," Gilligan grinned. "Don't worry, Professor. We're all dressed up and ready to go. It's just a run-through." He pulled his shoulders back and gripped the spear tightly. "I want to make sure I'm the scariest cannibal anybody ever saw. The biggest, meanest, hungriest, most terrifying..." his voice trailed off and he stood there with his skull painted mouth hanging open, staring at the small figure who had appeared in the doorway to the girls' hut.

Mary Ann was wearing her cleanest, crispest gingham checked dress. Instead of her usual pigtails, she wore her thick, dark hair wrapped up on the top of her head and held in place by a pretty red bow, a grown up style which displayed her slender neck to full advantage. Her stage makeup was subtle but effective, bringing out the colour of her eyes and the delicate shape of her lips. Her smooth legs were bare and tanned and her feet were encased in perky red pumps. She held an empty basket in both hands and she stood expectantly, looking from the Professor to Gilligan and back to the Professor.

"Well? How do I look?" she asked.

"You...you look different," Gilligan stuttered.

"You look beautiful!" the Professor said with a genuine smile.

Gilligan glanced at the Professor. The Professor always seemed to know how to pay a compliment. Gilligan shuffled nervously and cleared his throat. "Yeah, Mary Ann, you look...wow, you look real pretty."

"Why, thank you, boys," Mary Ann beamed. "And doesn't Gilligan look wonderful? A big, fierce native like him could scare a little lady like me half to death!"

"Well, that makes a change from a little lady like you scaring _him_ half to death," the Professor grinned, then sighed as yet another of his witticisms fell flat. "I'll be in my office," he joked feebly. "Good luck with your rehearsal."

"You're not meant to say 'good luck', you're meant to say 'break leg'," said Gilligan.

"Gilligan, I am not going to tempt fate by telling you to break a leg," the Professor said, waving back at them over his shoulder.

# # # #

Gilligan came out of the jungle trailing a long creeper vine behind him as Mary Ann stood and surveyed their 'stake'- a rather flimsy looking pole wedged into the sand.

"I wonder why they say 'break a leg'?" he muttered, tugging on the vine as it snagged somewhere in the foliage behind him.

"I guess because saying 'good luck' is bad luck," Mary Ann replied, giving the pole a shake to check its sturdiness.

Gilligan yanked hard on the snagged vine. It freed itself suddenly, sending him skittering back three or four paces. When he regained his balance and his adornments had stopped rattling, he held the vine in one hand and began looping it up with the other like he would a ship's rope. "How can good luck be bad luck? It doesn't make sense," he said.

"A lot of things in showbiz don't make sense," Mary Ann shrugged. "But what do I know? I'm just little old Mary Ann from Kansas."

Gilligan came over to her clutching the coiled bytes of vine in his left hand. "So what are we rehearsing, Mary Ann? You want to go through the whole thing, or you just want me to tie you to the stake and do the Dance of Death?" With that, he performed a sort of soft shoe shuffle across the sand, ending in a sweeping bow that rattled and clanked his necklaces.

Mary Ann shook her head fondly. "You're the sweetest looking cannibal I ever saw," she giggled. "I don't know how we're ever going to convince anyone that the natives round here are dangerous!"

"Oola boola boolaaa!" Gilligan retorted, sticking his tongue out through his blackened lips.

"Ooola boola boola to you too, Mr. Cannibal!" Mary Ann laughed in reply, putting her hands on her hips and sticking her tongue out back at him.

Gilligan laid the coiled vine down at the base of the stake. He retrieved his spear and picked up his script. "I don't even know where to start," he confessed. "You come 'skipping', it says here, skipping along the path, and I jump out at you, scare you, and tie you to the stake. Then what?"

"Then you do the Dance of Death," said Mary Ann, standing next to him and looking round his arm at the page of script he was holding.

"The Professor's writing is sometimes hard to read," he said, putting his face closer to the paper. "It looks like Danes of Dents."

"Well, it isn't. It's Dance of Death."

"Oh. Hmm, what would I know anyway. I'm a cannibal, I can't read." Gilligan grinned widely at his own remark.

"Very good, Gilligan," Mary Ann smiled back. "Now just forget exactly what the script says, and let's just practise what we know. I'll come skipping along the path, you jump out from behind this bush, scare me, and tie me to the stake. Simple!" She gave him her brightest smile, picked up the basket and scurried over to the path.

Gilligan went behind the bush and crouched on his haunches, clutching the spear. He felt nervous all of a sudden. "When do I jump out at you?" he called.

"When I get to the bush," she called back.

"Do you want me to say 'Action'?" Gilligan called again.

"That's a good idea. Say 'Action'."

Mary Ann cleared her throat and readjusted the basket. She primped her hair and stared straight ahead, waiting for her cue. And waited. And waited. Finally she sighed aloud and looked over to the bush where Gilligan was hiding. "Gilligan, why won't you say 'Action'?"

"I'm waiting for the right moment."

"Gilligan, please, just say it and let's get started." Mary Ann shook her head. She was awfully fond of Gilligan, perhaps more than she liked to admit, but he could be very infuriating at times.

"Okay_action_," he babbled, stringing the two words together as one. Now it was his turn to wait. "Mary Ann, where are you?" he called at last.

"Oh, _Gilligan_! I wasn't _ready_!"

Gilligan fiddled with some of the trinkets round his neck. He was getting fidgety and the plastic twig under his nose was distracting to say the least. "Maybe I ought to count to three and then say 'Action'," he suggested.

"Good idea," Mary Ann agreed.

"Okay, Mary Ann, I'm gonna start counting now." Gilligan crouched lower in the bush, gripped the handle of his spear. "One...two...three...ACTION!"

Mary Ann began skipping merrily along the path and into the clearing. "Here I go gathering nuts in May, nuts in May, nuts in May." She got as far as the middle of the clearing before she realised she'd passed the bush and Gilligan had missed his cue. She turned round. "Gilligan, where are you?"

"I'm looking at the script," he said, puzzled. "Where's it say about nuts in May?"

"It doesn't," Mary Ann sighed. "I was just singing a song!"

"Oh." Gilligan put down the script and giggled shyly. "It's cute," he said.

"Thank you. But don't worry about the song, just jump out when I get to the bush." Mary Ann returned to her mark, dusted down her dress, primped her hair again and stood waiting. And waiting. She rolled her eyes. "Gilligan, just say 'action' any time you're ready," she prompted.

"Action!" he shouted.

"Here I go gathering nuts in May, nuts in May...aaaahhhhh!" Mary Ann squealed loudly as Gilligan flew out of the bushes and charged straight into her like a football player going for a full body tackle, sending the basket flying.

"Oola boola boolaaaaa!" he grunted. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, dragged her backwards and pinned her roughly against the stake. "Gotcha!"

Mary Ann was so surprised she couldn't think of a single thing to say. Gilligan's expression was hard to read under all that war paint, but he looked like he was grinning from ear to ear. It was a little disconcerting to see that double row of real and painted teeth, but at the same time she found she couldn't take her eyes off him. She hoped he wasn't getting _too_ into character. Suddenly, she remembered she was meant to say something. "Ohkindsiryouhavesuchakindface, howcanitalkyououtof doingthishorribledeed ohdonotharmmecannibal!" she babbled.

Gilligan took a step back, blinking at her rapid fire delivery. "Huh?" he said, when she finally finished.

"Gilligan, don't just stand there, _tie me up_!" Mary Ann said, her face flushed with excitement.

Gilligan sprang into action. He threw his spear down with a loud clatter, bent and grabbed the vine from the ground and started unravelling it. "Hold this," he said, giving the end to Mary Ann.

Mary Ann sighed and accepted the vine, although she didn't think a real cannibal victim would be so willing to participate in her own demise. She stood with her back firmly against the stake as Gilligan began dancing round her with the vine slowly unravelling, winding it round and round and effectively binding her to the pole.

"Oola boola boola boo, I'm gonna put you in my stew," he sang.

"Oh, cannibal, why are you doing this to me?" Mary Ann wailed dramatically.

"Because I'm hungry," Gilligan replied. "And I don't have anything to make a sandwich."

"I am but a simple soul, kind cannibal, please let me go," Mary Ann went on. She didn't know how Gilligan felt, but she was getting dizzy just watching him going around and around and around.

"No can do," Gilligan said, sounding a little breathless now. "I haven't eaten for days. I was waiting for the fat guy, but you'll do for now. You know, as a snack or something." He faltered suddenly. "Whoops I made myself giddy," he muttered, and promptly fell against Mary Ann.

Mary Ann gasped out loud as Gilligan flung his arms around her and grabbed at the pole to steady himself. Her face became buried in the crook of his neck, and all the necklace adornments, shells, woodcarvings and bones dug right into her ribs and stomach. At the same time his hot skin filled her nose with wafts of sweet berry dye and greasepaint and she became fully aware of the fact that despite all the fancy accessories, he was half naked and pressed up hard against her.

"Gilligan, be careful," she said, her voice faltering. She tugged at her confines, but he really had bound her quite tightly and she could hardly move.

Gilligan tried to push himself upright but his head spun and he fell against her again. "Sorry, Mary Ann," he mumbled. "I can't get my balance yet."

"I think you may have got a little overexcited with your dancing," Mary Ann said, aware that her mouth was right next to his ear.

"That wasn't even the Dance of Death," Gilligan replied, his mouth right next to her ear. "That was more like the Dance of Dizzy."

Mary Ann swallowed. It was getting a little difficult to think straight with the first mate of the Minnow wrapped around her like this. "Gilligan, I think you may have tied me a little too tightly, I can't move my arms."

"You're not meant to," he said. "You're my prisoner."

Mary Ann breathed in another noseful of berry dye and greasepaint and Gilligan. "Yes, and you know I'd rather be your prisoner than anybody else's, but you really have tied me too tightly!"

Gilligan finally straightened up without losing his balance, although he kept hold of the pole with one hand while he looked straight into her eyes. "Would you really rather be my prisoner than anybody else's?" he asked.

"Of course I would," Mary Ann answered him. _Trust him to latch on to that,_ she thought, although his constant need for reassurance was one of the things she found so endearing about him. She thought his eyes had never looked so blue, peering out at her from the middle of all those crazy tribal markings. She knew that even though he looked like a savage warrior, he was still shy, sweet, loveable Gilligan underneath.

_Shy, sweet, loveable half-naked Gilligan, that is...with that ridiculous grass skirt hugging his slim waist and his bronze skin all shiny, and his skinny little muscles moving around..._

"I'll loosen your ties for you," he said. "Just in case you have trouble breathing."

_I'm having trouble breathing all right,_ she thought. _But it's not because of the vines._

He wound his arms gently around her waist and started tugging at the coils of vine. "Whoops, guess I did get a little carried away," he said with an embarrassed giggle. "They are tight!"

"Maybe this is what Mr. Howell referred to as 'method actors'," Mary Ann smiled. "Actors who get so caught up in the role, they actually try to become their character." She was fighting the urge to rub her cheek against his, or brush her lips against his ear, but she didn't want to smear his make up and she didn't want that chunky old earring in her mouth.

"I hope I don't become a cannibal," Gilligan replied. "I don't think I'd make a very good one. In fact, Mary Ann, _you'd_ make a better cannibal than I would."

"Imagine that. Me, a cannibal. They'd have something to say about _that_ back in Winfield!"

Gilligan laughed at that, and his boyish chuckling made Mary Ann laugh too. "I wonder what people taste like," she went on, encouraged by his amusement. "Maybe I should take a bite out of you, Gilligan. See if you taste as sweet as you look."

"I know I'll taste sweet, 'cause I'm covered in berry juice. Look." He lifted his arm to his mouth and licked it. "Mmm. Yummy."

Mary Ann shook her head and laughed. "If the Professor sees you doing that, he'll tie _you_ to the stake."

"Want some?" Gilligan grinned, holding his other arm under her nose. "You said you wanted to see if I tasted sweet, and I do."

"I can't lick your arm, Gilligan!" Mary Ann tried to look scandalized, although she had to admit that she really did want to.

"Come on! You said you wanted to take a bite. It's nice. Kind of like a banana mixed with a strawberry, and maybe a little bit of blueberry."

"Trust you to know exactly what it tastes like," Mary Ann smiled. "All right then, if you insist. But not the hairy side, the smooth side."

Gilligan turned his arm over and offered Mary Ann the smooth side. She poked her tongue out and daringly ran the tip of it along his skin, leaving a little wet trail from his wrist half way to the crook of his elbow.

"Mmm! You _are_ sweet," she declared, licking her lips.

Gilligan licked along his other arm. "I'm a big Christmas candy cane," he said. "Want some more?" He put his arm against Mary Ann's mouth and she put her tongue out and licked him again.

"Mmm," she said. "Delicious!"

"It's kind of neat being a cannibal," Gilligan decided. He had almost licked an entire patch of berry dye off his other arm.

"Are you sweet all over?" Mary Ann smiled.

Gilligan shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe you could lick me all over," he grinned, then realised too late what he'd said. "I don't mean...not like _that_, Mary Ann, I didn't mean like _that!_" his hand flew to his mouth and he blinked several times, his eyes wide with shock.

Mary Ann let out a peal of laughter. "Gilligan, what a suggestion!"

"I'm sorry, Mary Ann. Really, I am!" the first mate's eyes were full of panic amidst the warrior markings.

Mary Ann's heart went out to him as he stood there squirming with mortified embarrassment. "It's all right, Gilligan, really, I'm not offended. Oh, Gilligan. You are sweet, and I don't have to um..." she paused and dipped her head, blushing and looking up at him through her eyelashes, "...lick you all over to know that." She wished she could throw her arms around him and hug him, but her arms were still pinned to her sides.

Gilligan and Mary Ann stood looking at each other for what seemed like ages. Finally the flustered first mate spoke. "Thanks, Mary Ann, you're the best. I know say a lot of stuff without thinking, but that was pretty bad, even for me." He lowered his warrior's head and gave her his best aw-shucks look. "I was meant to be untying you, wasn't I?" he said shyly.

"Yes, you were."

He moved forward again, his grass skirt rustling and jewelry rattling. He reached out a little hesitantly and began pulling at the vines like he was doing before they both got distracted. "I didn't mean to tie you up so tight," he said, quietly. "I guess I got carried away."

"You were _very _enthusiastic," Mary Ann agreed. "I thought I'd stumbled onto a football field by mistake!"

Gilligan laughed at that. "In Navy training, we had to tackle these big, stuffed dummies. We had to run at them and try to get them on the ground. Skipper said I couldn't knock a feather over even with the wind behind me, and I told Skipper he was a bigger stuffed dummy than they were." He smiled brightly through the greasepaint. "That was the first time he ever hit me with his hat."

Mary Ann laughed gently. "And thus, a lifelong habit was formed."

"Yeah. It's okay though, it doesn't hurt." His hands worked patiently at the vines until they were loose enough for Mary Ann to free her arms. He watched with curiosity as she shook them out and flexed her fingers to get the circulation going. "Mary Ann? Did I hurt you?" he asked, tentatively.

Mary Ann looked up at him. Even with that fake bone-through-the-nose and that frightening skull mouth, Gilligan really was the most un-savage savage she'd ever seen. Even his feathery headdress seemed to be drooping. "Of course not!" she said, anxious to reassure him. "Gilligan, the day you hurt me will be the day the sea freezes over. You were meant to tie me up, and you did!"

"I know, but we were only rehearsing. Maybe I won't do it so tight when we do it for real." He shuffled nervously. "Or tackle you so hard. I mean, you're so small and everything, I wouldn't want to hurt you even by accident."

"Oh, Gilligan, you really are the sweetest! Come here." Mary Ann held her arms out, beckoning him to her. After a moment or two of hesitation, Gilligan did as she wanted, and she hugged him as though he were the most precious thing on earth. "I've never known such a sweet, kind, gentle and wonderful cannibal as you," she murmured, careful not to smudge all his decorative markings. "You can eat me any day."

The moment froze between them. This time it was Mary Ann who flew back with eyes wide open and her hands clamped over her mouth.

"Oh, Gilligan! Now I said something bad!" she cried.

Gilligan laughed delightedly. "Yay, it's not just me!" he whooped, and began to do his Dance of Death, jumping up and down and rattling all the bones and shells and woodcarvings round his neck. "_Oola boola boola boola!_"

Mary Ann freed herself fom the loosened vines and joined in. "Oola boola!" she shouted. "Oola boola!"

"Oogala boogala boogala!" Gilligan grimaced, flinging his feet up and kicking sand everywhere.

They hopped and danced around the stake, giggling and laughing, shouting 'oola boola' until Gilligan stopped and looked at her, puzzled. "Hey! The script says you're my prisoner! How come you're not my prisoner anymore?"

"Because now I'm a cannibal too!" Mary Ann laughed. "And I have to say, I like it a whole lot better!" She ran up to Gilligan and grabbed him by the shoulders. "I can be your Cannibal Queen," she said, breathless from trying to keep up with him. "I don't want to be rescued! I want to stay here forever on this island with you."

Gilligan stared at her. "Are we still rehearsing? 'cause I know _this_ isn't in the script."

"And I know this isn't in the script, either." With that, Mary Ann lifted her face and kissed him squarely on the lips.

Gilligan's first impulse was to flee, but Mary Ann's kiss was too sweet to be scary. He stood there slightly dazed, knowing that he wasn't meant to be feeling _this _good about it. Or was he? He felt himself blushing. "Gee, Mary Ann, what was that for?" he asked, bashfully.

"Oh, no reason," Mary Ann said, shrugging. "Just because I like you."

"Really?" the first mate looked delighted. Then he bent down and repeated the kiss back to her. "That's because I like you, too," he said.

Mary Ann's heart did a tiny backflip. "Gilligan, you kissed me," she giggled.

"Yeah, how about that?" he grinned. "And you know what? You taste even sweeter than me."

Mary Ann giggled. "I'm glad we decided to rehearse, Gilligan."

"Me too," Gilligan grinned. "Do you think we'll convince people that the natives are wild and dangerous?"

"I think we'll convince them that we're all crazy," Mary Ann laughed, playfully rattling his necklaces.

Gilligan looked down at her small hands gripping his adornments. "We're not crazy, though, are we? You and me."

Mary Ann smiled at the irony of Gilligan all dressed up like a tribal warrior and saying he wasn't crazy. _We all have to be a little crazy to go along with the Professor's mad schemes,_ she thought, but she didn't say it aloud, knowing how Gilligan tended to repeat things he'd heard. Instead, she hugged him again and stood close to him with her arms wrapped gently round his waist, enjoying one last feel of his warm bare skin before the others arrived. She could already hear Mr. Howell and the Professor arguing about something, and it sounded like they were on their way. She sighed, wishing there were more private moments like this between her and the clumsy first mate of the Minnow.

"No, Gilligan," she said softly. "We're not crazy."

The distant braying got louder.

"There's Mr. Howell," said Gilligan. "Or it could be a gorilla with a sore head."

"It's Mr. Howell," Mary Ann sighed. "Unfortunately."

Mr. Howell and the Professor were nearly upon them just two hundred yards or so down the path. Mary Ann let go of Gilligan and stepped back, feeling strangely disorientated as though she'd just woken up from a comforting dream. "I guess rehearsal time is over," she said ruefully.

"I won't be so rough with you next time, I promise," Gilligan said, and held up two fingers. "Cannibal scout's honour. See? It was three fingers but I ate one."

Mary Ann giggled and swatted his arm. "Do I look okay?" she asked. "No greasepaint on me?" She peered at her dress, twisted round and tried to see her back.

"No greasepaint," Gilligan assured her.

"Promise?" Mary Ann checked her arms for any tell tale tribal markings.

"Mary Ann," Gilligan said, seizing his chance before Mr. Howell arrived and ruined everything, "you're beautiful."

END


End file.
